Only For The Drummer
by Deida
Summary: Charles has a secret that after almost twenty years is coming back to bite him in the butt. It had been the hardest decision in his entire life, and now it looks as if all of his efforts over the years had been for nothing... How will the band take the news? And how in the world will things work once everything comes to light? And what will happen if he learns Pickles' secret?
1. DethLie

Taut, pulled to their limit, the violin strings danced beneath the narrow bow gliding across their silken surface. Fast, fast, faster, slow. Hover, dance, glide, fast, faster, slow. The notes ripped from the wooden instrument like body parts plucked from the helpless, their beat slow and melodic. The hand playing the mournfully mesmerizing melody skilled with years of strict practice, the soul-bearing song could have been an originally written piece. Passionately, the violinist lost in the outpouring of emotion that dampened the spirit and electrified the air, the climax of the song was fast approaching, the sweet notes fading away into the nothingness of the musician's soul.

As the private narrative began to dwindle, the sound of glass breaking permeated the air, too far away to alert the absorbed artist. Cans of smokescreen were tossed through the windows, quickly filling the empty rooms of the sizable home, men in black masks with various sets of equipment following the canisters. Slipping inside the shadows, the men - possibly numbering five or six - made their way stealthily through the rooms, navigating through the furniture with planed care. Stalking forward, the men grabbed the violinist before there time for the target to react, knocking the squirming body unconscious with a blow from behind.

**- Metalocalypse -**

Coming to in an abyss-like room, sight additionally blurry from hours of slumber, a head of tousled brown-blonde hair rolled to the side, falling from a hard rock of a pillow, a pair of green-grey eyes sliding around, pupils adjusting to the darkness. From what could be seen of the room, there was a modest nightstand with an unlit candle in a heavy sable stand, the vague shape of a vanity shoved against the wall opposite the bed, the mirror slightly tipped up, and an open wardrobe with nothing inside of it. Crawling from the bed, the violinist cautiously approached the door, mind racing and nerves live-wires underneath a submerged vessel. Reaching out for the doorknob, the kidnapped artist was only half surprised to find it locked from the outside. Turning back to the bed, the violinist grabbed the candle holder, finding it weightier than previously anticipated. Good. Taking a running start at the door, the musician swung the object at the handle repeatedly, bashing in the metal and door until the lock broke and the door was open.

The hell with going down without a fight! The hell with going down at all...

Determined to find a way out of this place, wherever it was, and impressed by the usefulness of the blunt object, the violinist decided that it would make for a handy tool along the way, so it was pocketed, and the violinist was faced with the first real question so far: Left or right? Which path would lead to the heart of this, to the people that were responsible for taking the teen from their own home, from family, and which would lead out, to the world? It wasn't that the violinist had had a particularly happy life, but it was better than this - dying in some castle, probably owned by a mangled hillbilly human-hunting serial killer freak! No, the violinist had a home, and a mother that was waiting, so escape was the only option. So, left, or right?

Following instinct, the violinist went right, following an empty corridor to find yet another hallway as morbid and barren as the last. At least the second hallway had another room in it, which meant one more chance at freedom, or at revenge. Preferably to freedom, but when had life ever been kind to the violinist? The last time that had been asked, the answer returned was never. Just one misery after another, but by this point, the violinist was used to it. Misery was almost like oxygen, something that was needed for the violinist's continued existence...

If it weren't for the violinist's natural survival instincts, life wouldn't have even allowed this point to have been met, and even if it somehow had, the violinist wouldn't be keeping a calm head, but would in fact be hyperventilating in the room, waiting to be messed with by the psychos that had brought the unfortunate violinist here in the first place. Maybe the trials and tribulations so far hadn't been for nothing...

Reaching the door, the violinist slowed the already tentative pace, pausing momentarily before making the next move. The next move being yet another question: Should the complex be searched door-by-door, or should only select doors be tried? It was possible that any given door could be the ticket out, but it could also be the kiss of death, so it was a puzzlement to say the least.

However, the decision-making process was cut short by the muffled huffing and puffing coming from the other side of the door. Left with no choice, the violinist reached for the door, hating that mother had instilled a sense of equality of life - who was the violinist to leave some poor victim behind if there was a chance they could have been helped? That was the price of a good schooling, probably. Even as the violinist stood there, the panting grew more labored, so without hesitation, the violinist opened the door, barreling into the room like a bull into a china shop - so not unnoticed.

The source of the panting wasn't anything like what the violinist had imagined. It was far worse.

Laying in the middle of his bed, white sheets disarrayed all over the place, booze bottles rolling about freely as the mattress jerked about with its owners movements, was a man. A scrawny, fair-skinned man with red dreadlocks. In another setting, the violinist might have found this man to be appealing, but that was a thought for another time, as what the man was doing was appalling to the young violinist's actually virgin eyes. Arching his body in ecstasy, his hands matching the ferocity of his hips, the green eyed man almost missed the stranger standing in the middle of his room, his eyes half-closed as his release neared, were it not for the violinist's decision to back away from the scene. Bumping into the wall in retreat, the violinist could only stare at the man in bed, face displaying shock and anger as the violinist stuttered an excuse for the intrusion.

"Dood," The man had a strong Midwestern accent, "What the hell!"

"Meep." Squeaking, the violinist turned around and bolted without another sound or look back, face beat-red.

Now that was possibly even more frightening than the thought of brutal torture at the hands of an unknown enemy. It was just so... _Big_! And out there... And... The violinist was extremely unversed in the art of sex, so the thoughts that blossomed in the mind were very foreign and very unwelcome. It wasn't that the violinist had sworn off sex, it was just that now wasn't the time to be fantasizing about it... Now was the time to think of getting the hell out of dodge!

_SMACK!_ Running down the hallway in an embarrassed frenzy - all thought of stealth evaporated - the violinist hadn't seen the man with glasses standing in the hallway outside of an office door. This man seemed completely different than the last one (aside from the fact that this one was actually in clothes), his hair neat and slicked back while the other man reeked of hard liquor and stale cigarettes.

Frowning at the violinist, a cellphone in his hand, he said briefly into the receiver, "I found her."

Hearing that had put the violinist back into panic-mode full-swing, all thoughts of the other man completely gone, "What do you want with me?"

Closing the phone, he slid it back into his pocket, re-opening the office door, allowing the mortified musician inside first. The violinist looked at him dubiously, but having the candle-holder in a side pocket, it seemed alright enough to humor the captor, so the artist ducked inside the well (but cheaply) decorated office, not noticing the name on the plaque. Taking a hesitant seat, the man closed the door behind himself, taking a seat at his desk. Whoever this person was, he seemed like the proficient sort, and that meant that maybe this could be settled in a non-violent way...

"What do you want with me?" The violinist repeated, arms crossed firmly over the chest.

The man looked down at a stack of papers on his desk, the edges of which were coated in fresh blood, "It has, uh, come to my attention that your mother had certain legal documents drawn up in the event of her death. These," He shoved them forward, continuing to speak as she read the legal document, "Were re-written after the death of her brother. Your mother was very specific about who was to care for you in the event that she should, uh, pass before you turned eighteen."

Still reading (the man's inner lawyer proud to see that that hard work hadn't gone in vain), the violinist's eyes barely left the page, "I know how a will works, but what I don' know is what my kidnapping and all this," The violinist gestured at the entirety of the place, "has to do with it."

"I'm sorry that your, uh, transfer, wasn't handled with better care, but it was of the utmost urgency that you should be brought here as soon as possible."

"Transfer?" The violinist set down the half-read papers, tilting her head to the side, "Am I some sort of prisoner?"

He looked at the young violinist, something close to remorse in his brown eyes, "Your mother never told you what happened to your father, did she?"

Taken aback, seeing how that had even less to do with everything, the violinist wondered if this man wasn't crazy, "She told me that my father died before I was born. I don't see what any of this has to do with anything! Where is my mother? I want to see her."

"I'm afraid that's impossible. As of 3:47 PM, yesterday afternoon, I became your primary care giver." He seemed unaffected by this situation in general, and judging from all the men her mother had ever brought around, the violinist had decided that his apathy towards everything meant that he was indeed crazy on a certain level.

And she told him as much, "You're sick. I don't know why you chose me for this little game you're playing, but my mother isn't dead, and she would never leave me with some..."

She trailed off, her eyes happening to finally reached his plaque on his meticulously cleaned desk at long last. How it had taken her this long to figure it (one way or another) out was anyone's guess...

"No." The violinist fell back into the chair, face flushed in utter terror, "Charles Foster Ofdensen? No, you can't be, he's dead..."

If only this girl had known, "Your mother never did tell you how your father 'died', did she?"

She thought back about it, even as recently as last week, her eyes widening dangerously as she was hit by an unstoppable realization, "You're my father... Then that means..." The violinist's grey eyes began to well up with tears, her body trembling all over, "You've been alive all this time? Why did you never see me, or write me, or anything? Don't you know how much it hurt me, watching all the other girls with their fathers? Even the divorced ones still called... So why? Why now? What could you finally want with me?"

Watching the teenager breaking down was perhaps one of the worst things Charles had ever seen in his life, and he was in charge of the most brutal band in the world. Reaching into the bottom drawer of his desk, he had pulled out a handful of photos, all of which were of the same girl, ranging from the day of her birth to her first day as a sophomore in high school, "I've always kept an eye on you, Scout."

Scout took the pictures, looking at them in teary-eyed surprise, only half-registering what was happening as she began to shut down and go into automatic, "But why were you never there?"

"Because," he took the memories back, sighing, "I made a choice to protect someone else, and I can never go back on that promise."

Numb, Scout looked away, too hurt by this news to look at the man she had dreamt of for half of her life, "So you have another family? Were you with them before or after us?"

Charles looked at the young woman sitting before him, a small part of him wishing that he could have been there for her; even now he wanted to wipe away her tears and comfort her, but after all this time, it was too late to bother with fatherly affection (he was fairly certain that even in her condition, she would spun any attempt at acting like her father), "I met them before I found out about you."

"Them?" She scoffed, disgusted with this monster sitting across from her.

He didn't miss the sour tone in her voice, "Dethklok."

Scout, trained in the classical arts, had no interest in the band, though she had heard of them before, "You chose a band over your own daughter?"

He could have told her the truth, that Ravenia had hid her from him, and that once he had found out about their daughter, he had already made his commitment. He could have recalled the events of her first birthday, when he had tried to fight for the right to keep her in his life. He could have told his daughter that her mother had, after witnessing firsthand the danger of his job, refused to allow him anywhere near their daughter. He could have told her a lot of things at that moment, but he didn't, because he had enough to tell her tonight...

The mother she had known was dead and a lair, and the father she believed dead was truly alive, working with death, left in charge of a teenage girl he knew next to nothing about for the next few years, until she went away to college. Charles Ofdensen was left with a broken husk of a girl, and the five men he'd have to keep away from her...

* * *

Alright, so this my second attempt at Metalocalypse story (the last no more than a terrible memory). I wasn't exactly sure how to begin it, but I'm liking this so far, so here it is! When referring to Scout, I wanted to keep it as mysterious as I could for as long as I could, and though I use the word "violinist" about a billion times, I think it turned out alright, though since I'm not used to writing like that, maybe it wasn't as good as I thought. If there is any confusion, please, let me know so I can straighten it out, and review while you're at it, hm?


	2. DethMeeting

Seated in the office of Charles Foster Ofdensen, the manager, CFO, and legal council of the wold famous dethmetal band Dethklok, blubbering like a beached whale after a fight with a shark and crying so hard there was blood in her tears, was a teenage girl who had just lost everything she had ever known and had gained everything she had neither wanted nor dreamed possible. Her mother had told her years ago that her father had died (though she had never offered any details on the matter, no matter how vague), and now, after being taken from her home in the dead of the night, she had discovered that her father had not only been alive this entire time, but he had been with another family! If a band even could be called such...

Charles had kept tabs on the girl, even once or twice having "accidentally" bumped into her in public places - not that she had ever seen him. In terms of the boys, he had no second thoughts, but when it came to the daughter he was forbidden to see, he had more than single regret. There was nothing amicable about the pre-Scout split with her mother, Ravenia S. Nightfury, the bridge long-since burned when she had tried to hide their child for the first few months. Maybe, if she hadn't lied to his face on multiple occasions, then maybe his life would have been vastly different; he probably would never have met Dethklok, though he could have had his daughter... But it was pointless to dwell on that now and weigh the lesser of two evils.

"Scout," He addressed the girl somberly, acting no different then when he was talking with the boys, "You must be tired after your ordeal. I'll, uh, have one of the Klokateers-"

On the verge of a complete mental breakdown after finding out that her entire life had been built around a lie, she looked up at him, a glint in her grey-green eyes and her white-painted nails digging frantically into the arm of the chair, "Where's my mother? I want to ask her why she lied about you... To ask her what else she is keeping from me."

Observing her agitated state, he was scarcely surprised to see her block out certain things about this conversation, suspecting that once this was past, she would probably forget this entire night. He understood all too well that the human brain could only comprehend so much at a time (it was a fact he had exploited often in his career), but this would no doubt make her all the more miserable, "Your mother's gone. She, ah, came to see me about you-"

Scout looked around the room, half-expecting to see her mother standing in the shadows, "Where is she? Where is my mother?"

He pushed his glasses up his nose, finding that this was a waste of time and getting them nowhere, so he decided to take another tactic and allow her to come to terms with her mother's passing in her own time, "It's late, you should go to your room and, ah, rest."

Feeling that he was brushing her away, she was too drained by her discoveries to fight back, though she would ask about her mother again, once she was calmer, "Whatever."

Standing up from his seat he looked at her, searching her face for some kind of que, but when none were forthcoming, he cut his losses and lead her back to her room, the lock already repaired by one of the Klokateers. The conversation had lasted longer than he had thought; He had a meeting with the band planned once they had awoken from their nap. She followed him silently down the darkened hallway, head bent low as she walked. She would get over this... Right?

Allowing her into her room, the door no longer locked, he paused before leaving her alone, "If you need anything, don't hesitate to call."

She looked at him blankly, little more than a corpse, "Will do."

Nodding awkwardly at her, he turned around and left the girl to fling herself back on the bed to stare at the ceiling until she fell asleep (which was sooner rather than later). Wretched as she must feel, he had other matters to attend to, and they couldn't wait any longer, not now that she was living there in Mordhaus.

**- Metalocalypse -**

Since Charles had failed to show up for the meeting, the only other time that that happened being when they believed him dead, the band was in a state of frenzy. Mostly. Sweet little Toki was worried that someone had gotten to the businessman, offing him in some gruesome manner, and like usual, Skwisgaar was being a prick, scaring the rhythm guitarist further. Nathan took it upon himself to defend the little guy, protecting him against the Swede. Murderface and Pickles were off to the side, having a debate on whether or not Ofdensen would leave them like before.

"I bet some kind of paperwork came up or somethin', and he's just busy." Pickles affirmed in his thick accent, "I think we should be busy too... Busy drinking."

"What have I told you about drinking during our meetings?" The CFO entered the room at last, taking his place at the head of the table.

Toki frowned at Skwisgaar, pointing an accusing finger in his direction, "Yous is ams a dick, Skwisgaar."

"Whats?" He raised a blonde eyebrow at the brunette version of himself, "I ams just beings honest."

"Guys." Charles normally would have let them argue it out a little bit longer, but the meeting had already been delayed long enough, "I have something important to tell you: For the next few years, we're going to have a guest here in Mordhaus."

"A guest?" Nathan grumbled, "What kind of guest stays for a couple of years?"

Pickles agreed, "Yeah, what kind of jack-off does that?"

"Dildos." Skwisgaar concluded.

"Great! Another guy?" Murderface whined, "You're trying to replace me, aren't you? Getting rid of the fatty, cleaning the house!"

"No body is replacing anyone, Murderface." Charles reassured the self-conscious bassist, "Scout has nothing to do with the band. In fact, I would prefer it if the two of you avoided each other as much as possible."

"Sees, Murderface? Yous is so uglys thats yous can'ts even see the news guys." Skwisgaar laughed mockingly, fingers silently strumming away on his ever-present Gibson.

"Actually Skwisgarr, I would rather that none of you met Scout, but since that seems inevitable, I want you aware of her presence here in Mordhaus." Charles was perhaps the most fatherly he had ever been at that moment, concerned about his daughter being around five older men with a long (some longer than other's) track record, just like any other normal father would be.

"Wait, this Scout dood is a chick?" Pickles asked the manager in disbelief.

"Aw, that's a pretty names for a girls." Toki commented, "Nows wes has little sister!"

Even Nathan was impressed by her name, "A chick named Scout? That's pretty metal."

"Yeah, but why's the little cunt coming to live with us?" Murderface disliked the idea of a woman coming to live with the band, probably due to being, in the words of Pickles, a 'classic woman-hater'.

Reflexively, a muscle twitched in the businessman's mouth, though he remained calm, "Because, Murderface, Scout is my daughter."

Having only partied with the man once or twice in the entire time that they had known him, they couldn't see him hooking up with some random skank without their influence. In truth, they failed to see him with a woman at all. Charles could be a cool guy at times, but the way he remained unfazed by everything made them think that he wasn't even human at times. Seriously, how could a guy as responsible as Ofdensen have a kid? Well, a kid that actually got attention (Skwisgaar had possibly over a hundred thousand children, none of whom had any recognition outside the paternity suits).

Being the most apathetic about the news, used to paternity suits and this sort of thing, Skwisgaar spoke up first, "Is yous ams sures it yours?"

"Yes, Skwisgaar, I am positive that Scout is my daughter."

"Sos, hows ams old is your daughters? Tens? Elevkens?" Toki inquired earnestly.

"Seventeen." He was hesitant to tell them just how young she was, or anything more than they needed to know, but he had had the team run the numbers, and they consistently came back that one way or another, Scout and the boys would inevitably cross paths at some point. The best he could hope for at this stage was that if they had to meet, it would be brief.

"Seventeen?" Pickles asked incredulously, "You're letting some hot little schoolgirl run around here?"

As if Ofdensen would actually allow free range, even if she did prove to be better behaved than the band, "Actually Pickles, I'm going to implement some new rules to prevent any, uh, untoward actions. Number one, no hitting on her - even if she wasn't my daughter, Scout is still a minor, so that also means do not give her any drinks, drugs, or cigarettes."

"Pft, what a kill-joys." Skwisgaar rolled his eyes, bored by the rules already.

"But we still get to do that stuff, right?" Nathan refused to let anyone interfere with his adult privileges, no matter how metal their name was.

"Yes, Nathan. She won't impede your consumption habits, though maybe this is a good opportunity to consider lessening your intake-"

All they heard was 'yes', "So what does that stuff have to do with us?"

_This was going to be a long night_, Charles sighed, realizing that this was going to take longer than he had originally thought...

**- Metalocalypse -**

Before the meeting started (or was supposed to start), Pickles sat alone in his room, legs dangling off the edge of his bed as he tried to straighten his shit out. Prior to taking a personal reflection moment, he had taken a hallucinogen or twelve, so he was tripping balls even before he had settled in for some quiet time. There also may or may not have been vodka involved. And some hash. And rum. And some crushed up X. And some angel dust.

Just as he was about to reach that special place, his hand wrapped tight around his manhood, thoughts drifting from one kind of a rack to another, there was a bumping sound, and it wasn't the one usually associated with a good wank. It was the sound of being walked in on on accident, the intruder trying to forget what had been seen. Assuming that it was just one of the douchebags in the band, or maybe a Klokateer, he half considered not bothering with the dumbshit becuase they were probably already long gone. But then he saw who it was watching him...

Who it was that continued to watch him.

Unless his eyes were deceiving him (and thus there laid half the problem), there was a teenager standing in the middle of his room, and not just any teenager, a female teenager. Some chick in a grey pullover was just standing in the middle his room, a look of half revulsion, half fascination on her heart-shaped face. The look on her face told him that she had no idea what she had just gotten herself into, but she didn't completely mind, the slutty little minx-maid. Wait, minx were little rodents with long furry bodies, right? He was pretty sure. Either way, the blonde half-creature was eyeing him lustfully, biting her lower lip in a very sexy way.

And it was gone as soon as it had come.

* * *

I probably should have said this in the last chapter, but I thought that I could fit it into the summary, so I'm telling you all now: This is not a Ofdensen/Pickles slash story! Sorry if any of your were misled by that... Not my intention all.

Crap, and I forgot the legal crap! Yeah, I don't Dethklok,, Metalocalypse, or anything other than this story, Ravenia, and Scout.

PS, I also really tried to nail the characters as well as their mannerisms/types of speech.


	3. Watching The Klok

The next day rolled around in a hazy blur of decadence for Dethklok, and a morbid dawning for Scout. They partied as hard as ever, thoughts of their newest roommate nonexistent in their amber web of booze and crystalline guillotine of abusable substances. So dead to the world, Scout had slept through it all, even when the party had broke out into her hallway. The agonizing pain in her chest, coupled with the shock of her sudden predicament, had acted as the ideal catalyst for a solid night's sleep. Probably the last deep sleep she'd actually get while living under this roof...

Regardless of how well she had slept, it didn't change the fact that, as she reviewed her meeting with her father, he had told her the cause of her moving (being forcibly placed) into Mordhaus. As casually as one might comment on the weather, he had told her that her mother's will had been changed to name her father (himself) as her primary guardian. And now that she was under his guardianship, it could only mean one thing - Ravenia Jane Selatcia-Nightfury (or Ravenia S. Nightfury as she had preferred to be known) was dead...

Scout had no one left in her family but her father, and her estranged grandfather on her mother's side. But she had heard even less of her grandfather than she had of her own father, so she had no way of even knowing if he was still even alive. Not that it matter anyways, as legally, she was stuck here, in this cold and lonely place. In the light, she could see how it had actually looked, with its Neo-gothic design, which if you liked that sort of thing, it would have probably been breathtaking to behold. But it was so barren, just as void of life as the person that had created it, the air freezing cold as the first breath of winter coming to kill the weak and unworthy creatures of summer.

It was as dead as...

She couldn't bring herself to even think the words...

Pulling herself up out of bed, even though she wanted nothing more than for it to shallow her whole, Scout thought about her mother, and of how she would allow absolutely nothing to interfere with going through the day. Chicken pox? If you can't go to school, then you better study twice as hard at home. Broken wrist? You still have toes, don't you? A mouth? No matter what it was, if there was a way to do it, she had the will. Scout recalled that even when her own mother had died, Ravenia had held her head high and went on with her business. That kind of attitude was one of the many things that Ravenia had tried to instill into her daughter, with a passing mark.

Running a hand under the shower head to see if the water was hot enough, Scout stood in the equally glamorous bathroom attached to her bedroom, staring off into space, remembering her mother's advice, _If you're hurt, you take a hot shower, and if you're heated, you take a cold shower. If you don't know what you feel, just turn on the water and let it rain_. Let it rain? No, she had every intention of letting it flood. Of burning away her skin and numbing whatever was still left...

**- Metalocalypse -**

Two weeks later...

If he hadn't been expecting it, he probably would have missed the soft, hesitant rapping on the wood door. The one thing he could say about her was that she had a good system going (she would knock first, and if he didn't answer the door, she knew to just come in), but it was too discreet to be very effective. When Charles wasn't around (which due to an important business matter that came up, he had been called away for a couple of days), Scout would go to Pickles, and she would get high with him.

Sure, Mordhaus was full of people who could have supplied her with what she needed to cope, but who better to go to than the most infamous addict in the world? Pickles would no doubt have the strongest stuff available, and being so surrounded by drugs, he would probably know what to do in the event of an accident. But truthfully, there was another reason why she had chosen to go to him... A reason that made her feel deep shame...

Before she had moved in with her (largely absent) father, Scout wasn't that kind of girl. She was a straight A student, on the student council, was dating the star of the basketball team, and had her choice of any college. If she had a problem, she wouldn't turn to drugs to numb it all away; she would have turned to the violin, but ever since her mother had passed way, all she could do was look at the instrument her mother had bought for her sixth birthday and cry. The comforting, classical music she had once loved now haunted her, bringing forth a new tidal wave of agony that stung worse than lemon juice over a raw, bleeding wound. Drugs were the only crutch she had now, the only thing that could help her ease the pain.

Walking in the bedroom, careful to close the door behind herself, she looked at Pickles sideways, "What's on the menu tonight?"

The first time he had seen her, she had stood in the same exact spot, though the look on her face had changed since then. When he had first seen her, she had been a minx-woman looking for a good time. The second time, when they had been officially introduced (her face slightly pink and her gaze averted), she was just kind of there, the hell she was in clearly visible. The next few times they had met, he noticed that her gaze would follow him for a few seconds before she would look away, but it wasn't the usual kind of gaze that the fans (or groupies) had ever given him before. It was different than that... To an outsider, it was just a corpse trying to blend in with the living, and to a trained eye, it might have looked like a girl with a crush. Had it been any other smart preppy chick, he would have thought that it was an itch only she would let him scratch. But no, Scout didn't strike him as that type, her naivety radiating like a light from one of Ofdensen's good lamps. Maybe she just wanted someone who could understand her, or could at least be there for her. His parents were still alive, but he knew what it felt like to be over-looked. Assholes.

That was the girl he saw, but that wasn't the girl he found himself thinking about. Fantasizing would be a better word, as he had lost count off all the times he had thought something about the teen that he shouldn't have. The first time was probably the most mild and innocent, as at the time, he wasn't even sure that she was real. The next few weren't too bad either; it wasn't anything different from what he usually thought about women and groupies. But then one night, the very same night that she had first came to him, his thoughts had taken a different course...

That night was relatively quiet, not unlike tonight...

Scout had been watching the band from afar, pretending to study (her father had pulled her out of school and was currently in the process of having her transferred to a very prestigious private school), observing how they seemed to feel better when they indulged themselves. She had once opposed that sort of behavior vehemently, but that was before she had understood it, and the need for it. She had been foolish to condemn drugs and the people who used them, so close-minded she had thought beratingly of herself.

Getting that thought into her head, she had began to watch her father more closely, to make sure of his schedule so that he won't catch her in the act. He had been around it for such a long time, but he hadn't seen the practical side, and she was certain that if she tried to explain it to him, he wouldn't believe her, so she had no choice but to keep it a secret. So she watched and waited until she was sure, and once she felt confident enough about the timing, she approached Pickles.

He was already pretty wasted, sitting alone in the living room in his usual place at the end of the couch, randomly changing channels. Walking up to him, biting her lower lip with uncertainty, she sat near the middle of the couch, pretending to be adsorbed in watching the tv. She was always so sad, but she seemed to function normally enough, so that didn't raise his eyebrow. What did raise his eyebrow was the fact that she was trying to play it cool, nervously pulling at the hem of her cargo shorts.

Green eyes rolling casually over her, Pickles happened to see her fingers toying with the fraying cuffs of her shorts. The famous drummer wasn't one for paying attention to the details, but he certainly saw the way the dark olive material curved to the shape of her hips, cutting off abruptly at the thigh, her crimson tank top bunching over her lap. For the life of him, he failed to see how the others didn't want to just shove her into the wall and ravage her... Crap, there he went again! He could not believe for one second that she was oblivious to how hot she was, though judging by the way she held herself in general, she was in the dark. Was it possible that she was testing him on purpose? Possibly on behalf of her father? Because he refused to believe that she could look that sexy without meaning to.

She cleared her throat, shaking her head, "So, um, are you holding?"

Not missing her light brown hair falling down her shoulder as she shook her head (her constant showering fading away the blonde to gradually reveal her naturally brown locks) he laughed, "Are you kidding me?"

She looked at him earnestly, the green in her grey eyes blazing like a star before it devours itself, "No. I've seen you guys - "

"Sorry 'bout that." He rubbed his neck, assuming that she had seen them all slopping drunk and at their worst.

She cracked her lip up, the first thing like a smile he had seen on her, "Don't be. It helped me come to the conclusion that being sober is to face your problems. I don't want to face mine. I can't face mine, not yet."

He was about to refuse her, knowing full well where this road would lead her, "I-"

Making a ballsy, desperate move, she clutched at him, close enough only to grab his leg, "Please, help me. I need this... I... I'll do anything... Just don't make me feel this pain anymore... Please!"

Her voice broke, and she began to cry. The last time Pickles had seen a girl crying like this was... Ok, he couldn't remember the last time he had seen a girl crying like this, or if he had _ever _seen a girl crying like she was crying right now. Her face all scrunched up, snot dripping down her nose, eyes getting bloodshot and puffy, she looked like crap. Well, maybe she did look terrible enough to hide it...

"Alright, fine! But we ain't doing it out in the open where any jack-off could see us." He got up, dragging her along behind him, thinking what was mild enough to not kill her, but strong enough to do what she was asking for. He came to no solid conclusion.

They had gone to his room, her looking around shyly at the wreckage. Maybe it would be enough to scare her away? Pulling out a needle, the necessities, and a small container, he set them down on the bed. She looked at him, the look of a doe-in-the-headlights-before-it-gets-obliterated on her face. Maybe this was a stupid idea after all... No, she would have to endure this, because she could not endure the other stuff, not anymore. Taking a deep breath, she held out her arm, squinting as she looked the way.

Pickles took her arm , tying the cord just above her elbow, "You sure 'bout this?"

Without a second thought, she nodded, "Do it."

"Alright." He pressed the needle down, piercing it through the skin.

The rest was history.

* * *

I don't own Metalocalypse, unfortunately...

I also do not condone drugs.


	4. Odds Are It Wouldn't Have Worked Anyway

"What's on the menu tonight?" She cocked her head at the drummer, entering his bedroom after making sure that the door was secure behind her.

Scout had come to him at least five times now for something to kill the pain she felt over her mother's sudden death, and Pickles had provided her with something different every time. He knew full well that he had been helping her down a dangerous road, and surprisingly, he actually cared. He knew that it wasn't metal to care, but there was something different about the teen that he couldn't place. She was lost, alone, frightened. The cause might have been different, but when he looked at her, he saw the female version of his sixteen year-old self... The same self that would have beat the crap out of anyone who had tried to dissuade him from his chosen path.

Concerned about her well being, Pickles wanted to stop her from doing what he did so well, but that was low and hypocritical, and he knew that if he refused her what she wanted, she would turn someplace else, and that could be dangerous, especially for someone like her. A pretty, inexperienced girl could really end up in trouble on the streets; he knew, he'd seen it happen a million times back when he was with Snakes N' Barrels (speaking of, he wondered how those guys were. Maybe he'd call them later. Or not). In his mind, it was better to be the one to hurt her than to allow some douchebag on the street to do it. At least he honestly cared about her, and not the money (or whatever).

But there was more to it than that... He liked her company, and if she didn't come to him for the sweet escape, he doubted that she would have bothered with the likes of a not-so-gracefully aging rock star. It was petty and selfish, but when had he ever been awarded the 'nice guy' award?

"Scout, why don't we try something else?" He had been giving her depressants so far, and he was beginning to run low on them (though getting more would be a cinch).

She looked away from the booze lining the back wall, slight alarm on her face, "What?"

"No, not that." He saw her eyes dart over to the bed apprehensively, not that he hadn't thought about abusing his position, "I was thinking more along the lines of some booze, and maybe some pot. Just take it easy tonight. "

She nodded, uncomfortably clearing her throat, curious to know why she wasn't being taken advantage of (not that she minded keeping her purity intact), "Oh, good. I mean... Not good about the not having... I mean about the second part."

Sober, she was a nervous wreck around him, timid, shy, and rambly even when she got to the point, but when she was high, she was considerably calmer, and able to actually speak to him like a normal human being. So far as he could recall, she only really sat around smiling at everything, but it was a real smile (a beautiful smile), and when she did say something to him, it wasn't like she was holding back. She probably should have bored him to death, but actually they got along really well when they were fucked up.

But it didn't change the fact that it wasn't really them...

Getting everything in order (which meant he was firing up the solid black dragon-themed bong), handing the lady a dark green bottle from the shelf, Pickles said, "You can sit down."

Scout nodded, sweeping off the edge of the bed before plopping down, "Thanks."

Sitting next to her on the bed, his leg bumping into her's (Scout seemed not to notice this as she was preoccupied with prying open the bottle), he quickly took in her legs, this time covered in a pair of bubblegum-pink skinny jeans, he shrugged, taking a swig from his own bottle, "It's no big deal."

She shook her head, "No, I mean for helping me through this. I don't know what I would have done if it hadn't been for you... But I doubt that I would be sitting here right now, so thank you, really."

He nearly dropped his specially crafted piece on the floor, but he caught it in midair, putting it further back behind them, the guilt weighing heavier on him than before. She was actually thanking him for ruining her life? Dammit! He was having a hard enough time doing this to her, and now she had to go and thank him for it? What kind of sick monster was he?

"I know that it's not - What does Nathan say? - 'metal' to help someone else out, but you've really made a difference. When I first heard that he was my father, I thought that maybe he would... I know it's stupid to wish for some kind of magical father-daughter relationship, but he's all that I have now..." She choked back the tears, "And he hasn't even spent an hour with me. I mean, I probably know you guys better already than I'll know him in a month! I'm sorry I keep crying like this... I just can't help it... Whenever I do manage to feel something, I think of my mother, and of how she'll never... It just makes me feel so guilty Being alive... Daring to believe that I could be happy... I want to get over this, because I know that she's gone and never coming back, and I..." Scout blushed, looking away from the drummer, "It doesn't matter what I feel, because her death is just hovering over me like my own personal storm. Can you forgive me, for all this boring rambling? It's not important, but it really helps to have someone to talk to..."

"By all that is evil..." Pickles muttered under his breath, clenching his hand so tightly around the top of the glass bottle in his hand that it cracked, splinters of it burying themselves in his hand, causing it to bleed, though he barely noticed.

Noticing the blood oozing from the wound, Scout frowned, setting aside her unopened bottle so that she could take a look at it. He tried to ignore the problem by turning away, but she grabbed him by the wrist and forcibly jerked his hand forward where she could examine it. Silently, with lightly calloused hands (the by-product of over a decade of violin) and virtually no pressure, she carefully took the bottle out of his grasp, pulling up the hem of her white "I refuse to engage in a battle of wits with an unarmed opponent" t-shirt to wipe away the blood. Pickles discerned that the skin on her stomach was a shade lighter than on her arms. It wasn't as bad as she feared, so she took it upon herself to yank the shards out from his hand.

He yelped in pain as she ruthlessly tore the glass free from his flesh, the strength taking him by surprise. She only rolled her eyes at him as he commented, "Ow, that hurt."

"You big baby," She chuckled, "Here, squeeze my shoulder for the pain. Normally, I'd offer you my hand," She plucked out another of the larger shards, setting aside the dislodged pieces, "But they're a bit busy at the moment."

So as to not hurt her feelings, he grabbed her shoulder as instructed, clenching lightly on it (tightening his grip every time she removed another piece of glass). Even under the white material, he could still feel the heat of her skin, her muscles moving underneath his fingertips as she worked. She worked skillfully and quick until all but one tiny fragment remained, the smallest and hardest to remove without any outside assistance. But she had had many splinters in her life, so she knew exactly what to do - she just hoped that he wouldn't mind.

Deliberately, she rotated his wrist so that his palm was facing up, her fingers wrapping around his hand to hold him steady. Nimbly, before he could object, she lowered her mouth to the base of his thumb (where the last bastard remain), working her tongue until the remnant was out. Backing away from him sheepishly, face bright red, she spit out the final remain, and just in time too. If she hadn't had a surprise start and a blessedly prompt finish, he wouldn't have been able to hide his half-erect member from her by slamming his arm over it, holding his previously injured (still slightly bleeding) hand out. Still crouched before him, she looked up at him.

"How did you learn how to do that?" He asked, genuinely interested.

She held her hand out for him too look at, "Ten years of violin. Lots of splinters."

Prompted by no obvious stimulus, Pickles took Scout's hand in his own, her smaller appendage fitting almost perfectly in his own, and he guided her forward, allowing her enough slack to pull back at any time. Grey eyes half-lidded, she extended her neck, tilting her head upwards, lips inching closer to meeting the drummer's, her heart hammering in her chest. Watching her ascend to meet him, his mind clouded by pain and the burn of desire, he grew impatient and yanked her forward, mouth falling on her expectant lips.

As expected, her lips were soft, and unused to the pressure of another they yielded to the lightest touch. His goatee prickled her face, but it wasn't an unpleasant feeling, the taste of liquor and god knows what else also doing nothing to push her away. As inexperienced as she was, Scout had known to mix things up a bit, so she gently bit his lower lip, nibbling as he ran his hand down her spine (half pulling her shirt off just from their positions). Feeling the tingling in her spine, she thrashed around, bucking into him before pulling them both down to the floor. Straddling the girl, his hips pressed against her's, his cock stabbing into her thigh as he pinned her to to floor single-handedly, he parted her lips with his tongue, free hand slipping underneath her shirt, fingers gliding over her stomach.

"Pickles..." She managed to whimper around his tongue, "T-"

Hearing her voice, the older man returned to his senses, ashamed to say that he had acted in a (mostly) sober state. She was panting already, his dominant mouth barely allowing her the time to inhale, her body heaving under his own, her grey eyes filled with lust as she looked at him in confusion. She hadn't done this before, but surely she couldn't have been that bad? Not knowing what the worst part of this even was - not that he wanted to think about it - he released her, and standing up, he turned his back to her, knowing that if he looked at her again tonight, he would give in to his more animalistic nature and fuck her brains out. Hell, he wanted her so badly at that moment, he might have fucked her brains out, put them back in, and then do it all again.

"Get out." He pointed at the door, trying to keep his eyes on the wall.

Hurt by this sudden an unexpected rejection (afraid that she had done something horribly wrong), she stood up, grabbing his arm, but he didn't respond, "I'm sorry to have bothered you... I won't do it again..." She turned, her back to him for a few seconds before she left, tears in her eyes, rolling down her cheeks. How could this have gone so wrong?

**- Metalocalypse -**

The next morning (or what constituted as morning for the band), Nathan, Pickles, Toki, Skwisgaar, and Murderface sat around the table eating a breakfast of french toast and scrambled eggs, drinking their lifetime supply of free coffee in their specialized, personal mugs (Toki's a mug of Skwisgaar). Nathan, Skwisgaar, and Murderface all nursing hangovers while Pickles had a problem of another variety. Toki, like usual, was well rested and ready to face the day. But Pickles? If his day was recording, doing a show, or being blacked-out, then he would have fared moderately well. As it was, today was a free day for the band, and as such, that meant that he had to face his problem sooner rather than not at all.

"Morning!" Scout waved cheerfully as she entered the kitchen, a plate of salad and a bloody hamburger for lunch (her schedule requiring that she be awake in the morning for her classes).

"Mornings!" Toki excitedly greeted her.

"Yeah? What the fuck's so good about it, huh?" Pickles snapped, rubbing his temples in aggravation at the chipper morning people around him.

Scout shot him a look that would have been worthy of being one of Dethklok's album covers, "I really wouldn't know. Besides, I never said that the morning was good. If you knew me, you would know that I rarely ever say 'good' morning."

Sadly, he already _did_ know that about her, not that he could say that in front of everyone, metal or not.

"Pft, someone on hers periods." Skwisgaar muttered to Toki.

She turned her glare to the Swede, "Not anymore. But if you keep that up, I'm going to make sure someone bleeds heavily for the next seven days..."

She might have left his room in a depressed spirit, but she certainly wasn't that melancholy anymore, not now that he had given her something to hate. But why was she so mad at him? He had done a good thing in not touching her, so why in the world was she so pissed at him? It was only for her own good that he had pushed her away! Pft, women... Assuming that he would never understand them, he had to applaud Skwisgaar for not keeping a girl longer than one night, because if it had somehow worked with Scout, things would probably have blown up in his face a hundred times worse than this...

* * *

I don't own Metalocalypse, unfortunately...

I also do not condone drugs.

Nor underage sex with minors. Or any bad thing that might possibly occur in this story...

But on a longer note, I hope that this has been believable? I'm trying to make Scout and Pickles have a descent relationship without her being a Mary-Sue (gotta hate them...), and I think that I'm doing alright, but if this comes across as Mary-sue-ish, please let me know :)

And reviews are always welcome!


	5. Ofdensen's Daughter

Besides ineptitude, there was one major reason why they, with the exception of Nathan, did not seek a meaningful relationship with the opposite sex - women were crazy. If anything, their mothers (and grandmother in Murderface's case) should have been an indication of that "fact", but somehow, they weren't enough to drill that into their sons. Not even Serveta had completely managed to scare her son from trying at one point to find a girlfriend (though she had done enough to ensure that it would be nearly impossible for him to maintain one). While the Swede had pretty much given up on more than a one-night fling, Toki had attempted to find love, but had came to his own conclusion that all women were insane, hot or not. Murderface was... Well, he was Murderface. But Pickles should have known better. He should have known better than to start something with someone that was going to be around for a long time...

What was he thinking, allowing a girl to make him think back on his own life, to care about her? His life was hell, paved with hardships and pitted with disappointment. He didn't drink _just_ for the fun of it... She wasn't even a woman yet (in any sense of the word), yet he had allowed her passed the cold shell he wore to protect himself, and what was worse, it had happened without him even realizing it! He had completely lost his senses, his desire to touch her... No, it was more than just that... He wanted her, to pillage her most intimate of places, to taste her innocence as it left her body, to literally ruin her for anyone else. But it was more than carnal pleasure he wanted to share with her (he had virtually every other woman on the planet for that), he wanted to hold her in his arms as she grieved, her tiny body rocking against his as he helped her wash away the pain. To caress her arms as they fell asleep (preferably after sex), and to see her face first thing in the day. He wanted to help her through this, so that she could help him...

He was hurting, the booze and drugs masks to hide the pain, his past catching up with him every time he closed his eyes. The garage fire, his parents' obvious favoritism for Seth, the biggest douchebag of them all, his time in Snakes N' Barrels, every last mistake that had made him famous... It haunted him. He couldn't even look at himself in the mirror anymore, not without seeing the failure he really was. He was difficult, he knew that, and he wasn't looking like he used to, his hair a constant reminder of that. He hated himself, and he knew that everyone else did too, his lays only shacking up with him because he was famous.

But then she had came along, and he had seen a light that he thought he would never see again - hope. She was depressed, yes, but she actually had the strength to get out of bed and face her life. She might have turned to drugs because she thought that she couldn't cope anymore, but that was just the idiocy of youth. Youth, that could be easily influenced. She probably thought that he was repellent - why shouldn't she? - but if he could somehow get on her good side, he could have used her own youth against her, to make her think that she wanted him... It was a stupid idea that screamed desperation and zero planning, but when it worked (and he was sure that it would have), she could have been what he wanted, what he needed...

Unfortunately, he had worked against himself, and it had all backfired horribly.

Ruing the fact that she had to meet him at a time like this, when her life was in such turmoil, Scout was confused by the emotions ripping her apart inside. It wasn't bad enough that her mother had lied to her her entire life, though after living with her father for the past couple of weeks, she was beginning to understand why, not that she disliked him or blamed him entirely for his continued absence (he was just extremely busy managing Dethklok, and after meeting them, she realized exactly what that could all entail). Her mother's death had devastated her, sapping away everything that was good, even things as commonplace as colors began to fade, and she had lost hope that she could ever be happy again. But Pickles was different, he made her feel like, with time, she could feel happy again. Happy without guilt. He made her feel good now, but she had to hide it, because it felt like a betrayal to feel anything other than depressed.

He was dark, darker than he let on, his mask a veil to her eyes, and even though she wasn't in a place where it was right for her, she wanted to help him, to reach out where no one else would, to make him see what she saw. He was cynical, and injured, burned by a world that didn't understand, but he tried to pretend that it didn't bother him. He was a good actor, but she saw the truth in his eyes. He was damaged, and she wanted to help him, to do anything in her power to help alleviate even some of his pain.

But more than that, she wanted to - childish and naive as it might have been - be more to him than just his manager's daughter, than a roommate, than his friend. She wanted to be there for him, to hold his hair back while he puked, to share in all his good moments and the bad. She wanted him, him touching her the way he had began to last night, gently, yet impatiently. She wanted to taste the fire again, to feel his fingers brushing over her skin, to have him explore every last part of her body while she explored his. She wanted him to take her, ram her against whatever surface they happened to be by at the time, and ravage her. She wanted him to take her, and make her his, and only his.

It was a fool's hope...

**- Metalocalypse -**

Nathan didn't understand why Scout was suddenly pissed off at Pickles, but he thought it was hilarious! She had been quiet and reserved, so unlike the the screaming groupies he was used to, usually with a book in her arms every time that she had crossed his path, and she had been respectful. But then one morning, she had flat-out gone bitch mode, making snarky comments at Pickles expense, ignoring him when he tried to speak to her, and even once, she had "accidentally" spilled her coffee on him. She threw it right on him. It was pretty brutal.

It made even less sense how she had started to change how she dressed. At first, she had opted for more concealing things like pullovers, jeans, sweaters, vests, scarves. Girly shit like that. But when she started acting hostile towards Pickles, the clothing came right off and she started to resemble a groupie, the clothes showing more and more skin. One day, she wore a pair of baggy pants that hung low on her waist, exposing her underwear, and a low-cut tank top that flattered her chest, the bottom of the maroon fabric falling to her ribcage. Had Charles not been away on business, he would have made her change (and have one of the Klokateers burn all the articles of clothing he had deemed unacceptable).

Gathered together in the band recreational room, Toki, Skwisgaar, and Murderface playing arcade games while Nathan, Pickles, and Scout relaxed in the hot tub, "Kill You" played in the background. It was undeniable that the song was amazing, the vocals so sexy and enthralling to her, but in these conditions, she wouldn't admit that aloud. She wouldn't let him have that satisfaction...

Not having a sexy bikini (or a bikini at all), Scout had gotten into the water in her bra and underwear, her clothes discarded by the pool. A certain drummer wasn't too pleased to have her floating around those sex maniacs, exposing herself even that much to them. If they had been alone, it would have been another story altogether...

"I'm sorry that I don't have anything to wear in the hot tub," She addressed Nathan, taking that moment to adjust the lace covering her breasts, "I mean, I could have worn nothing, but I can think of a few people who probably wouldn't want to see that." Her eyes flashed to Pickles, "But, who wouldn't want to see me like that?"

"Murderface." Pickles answered automatically.

She couldn't help but to snort at that, "True." They looked at each other, his green eyes meeting her grey ones, only for her to turn away from him, her attention on Nathan, "That might actually be funny, wouldn't it, Nathan?"

What the hell was that? Seriously, what the fuck was that for! Pickles indignantly watched as she schmoozed Nathan, her eyes solely on the front man. Incensed, Pickles saw red, so very ready to clock him in the face.

"Uhhh," Nathan thought about it, "Yeah, it be funny to see the look on his face. Do it!"

She stood up, the keen change of temperature violently stabbing her flesh, rivulets of warm water rolling down her flesh, back into the hot tub, the water seeping down the black lace hearts into her cleavage, down her stomach, going down, down, down, "Hey, Murderface!"

"What?" He snapped, turning from his game to look at Scout, his mouth falling when he realized what she had meant to do (all eyes on her at that moment).

Just as she had her fingers on the clasp of her bra, the hooks ready to fail, there was a pair of arms around her, encircling her as he held on tight, refusing to let the fabric fall and leave her exposed, his voice livid in her ear, "Are you crazy?"

Not letting her go, Pickles half-dragged, half-carried her to the other room so that they were alone, slamming her wet body against the wall, his right hand coming down by her head, hard. Fuming mad at the situation, at himself, and at her, afflicted with jealousy towards his band-mates, Pickles felt himself shaking with rage, hands clenching into fists. Blind with animosity and lost to reason, he grabbed her wrist with his left hand, forcing her to touch his flaccid member, making her hand run up and down the front of his soggy underwear, the slippery material little more than a second skin.

"Is this what you want?" He breathed heavily into her ear, strong with the scent of heavy liquor, continuing her motions, feeling himself grow hard.

She squirmed underneath him, his leg pressing into her crotch as he pressed his body against hers, "Stop it! Not like this..."

He made her hand go faster, stroking him off, "This is what groupies do. You're dressin' like a groupie, you're hittin' on Nathan like a groupie, and you're acting like a slutty groupie, so why shouldn't I treat ya like one?"

If he had been thinking at that moment, he would have hated himself for putting Scout in this position. She had trusted him, going to him when she was in need, and this was how he repaid that trust? He let his rage get the better of him, blocking out that she wasn't just another pair of tits, that she had actually meant something to him. If he had been thinking, Pickles would have seen that instead of teaching her a lesson, he had damaged her already fragile state. As it was, his temper was beyond measure, himself oblivious to the pain he was causing her.

Doing her best to hold back her tears, Scout looked up at Pickles, her lower lip quivering, chin trembling, the green contracting in her brightly shining eyes, "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... I didn't mean to hurt you, I can just get so vindictive, and you hurt me so bad that night... This isn't me... I don't want to be the groupie..." Her hand went limp, falling back to her side as he let it go, "I want to be... No, it really doesn't matter now, does it? Not now that you hate me..."

She turned her head away, unable to look at him anymore. How could she have let herself go so far? How could she have allowed herself to flirt with his best friend, blatantly, right in front him? How could she have had such a cold heart as to hit below the belt, to jeopardize the band? Scout wasn't that kind of person, one that could ruin a friendship and put millions, if not billions out of work! She didn't want that, to come between two friends, so what was she thinking? She felt nothing for Nathan, so why in the world was she acting so crazy?

So wrapped up in what she had done (and failed to do in his room), she hadn't even acknowledged what he had done to her, and even if a part of her had noticed it, she felt so terrible that she believed that she had deserved it...

"I don't hate ya!" Pickles felt like a world-class douchebag, her tears like a cold shower of realization, "Jesus, Scout, you really have ta have problems if you can't see why I acted the way I did."

"What do you mean?" She tilted her head back, letting her tears fall behind her cheeks, some of the light coming back into her eyes.

He looked down, meeting her eyes, sighing heavily, "I had no other choice but ta push ya away! You're Ofdensen's daughter... I can't fuck around with ya."

"Oh," The disappointment was clear in her voice, "But what if I wasn't Scout Ofdensen? What if I were Scout, just Scout? Would you still dislike me then?"

"It's not that simple."

She cocked her head at him, growing upset, "And why not? All I want to know is why you hate me so much, what I did wrong to make you push me away! Just tell me, and I'll leave you alone."

As if getting answers was ever that easy...

"Are ya always this infuriating?" Pickles was nearing the end of his rope with her, so ready to just scream and rip out his dreads.

She shot back, "Just when I talk to guys who lead me on."

"I never meant to lead ya on." Hearing more than the spite in her tone, hearing the pain underneath it, his voice was small, honest for once.

"Then what did you want from me?" The hard look on her face softened, her anger dwindling in face of his honesty.

He sighed in defeat, losing the battle to just get over the obstacles and take what he wanted, "Nothin'."

"That was not nothing. You can try to lie to yourself, but you can't lie to me," She shook her head, on the verge of fresh tears, "What happened that night? Dammit, Pickles," She started to cry anew, her voice in danger of giving out, "Tell me what I did wrong! I've been over it a thousand times in my mind, and yet try as I might, I can't figure out what I did... "

"Ya didn't do anything," He smiled reassuringly at her, his attraction to her (and desire to protect her from further sorrow) once again overcoming his reason, stroking back a strand of her wet hair, "I was being an asshole."

With Scout, it was a never ending battle, neither side winning for more than a fleeting second, even though the consequences lasted so much longer than that...

Making the first move this time, even after the way that she had been treated, Scout kissed the unexpecting drummer, her tongue darting into his open mouth. She knew that he was acting out of spite and not himself (a deeper, darker part of herself also half enjoying where that was going). Startled by her force, as well as her actions, he blinked before wrapping his arms around her neck, pulling her closer. Standing on her tip toes, she kissed him again, harder this time, her mouth moving from his lips, her own lingering just above his for a second, coming back down on his cheek, trailing sensuously to his jawline, her eager mouth biting down on his neck, sucking on the flesh.

He picked her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as she slathered him with her saliva, "Scout... Stop, we shouldn't do this..."

She looked up at him, pulling away from his neck only after she saw a dark mark blooming where her lips had vacated, "Why? We both want this, don't we?"

Eyes locking, all he could do was look at her sitting there, her long brown hair tumbling down her shoulders. He hadn't noticed it before, but she had her father's hair. She had his everything, expect for her eyes. Those burning clouded emeralds that haunted him nightly...

* * *

I don't own Metalocalypse, unfortunately...

I also do not condone drugs.

Nor underage sex with minors. Or any bad thing that might possibly occur in this story...

Yeah, I'm kinda mixing it up with the accents a bit, as if that compares to the mind-fuck that was this chapter. I wasn't planning on having Pickles go that dark (and trust me, it took a million and one rewrites to get this chapter right), but once it came about, I actually kind of liked it, but maybe that's just me. Scout's reaction was easier for me, as the author, because she's in a mentally confusing place. I'm sorry if this displeased/offended anyone, but this is rated M for a reason, ya know?

And reviews are always welcome!


	6. KlokTease

Pickles looked at the young girl (woman an inaccurate statement) in his arms, supported only by his bloated waist and the wall. She looked back at him intently, studying his face for signs of doubt, regret, or anything else that would prematurely end this encounter like the last one, her fingers absently wrapping around his scarlet dreads. They had been here before, right at the crux of action, bodies burning with the unquenchable flames of lust and the searing lick of desire, but he had prevented them from crossing any sort of gasoline-lined bridge. She was young, messed up, and the daughter of a colleague (who was actually more of a family member than a boss-type-of-person). If the circumstances had been even a little different, he might not have given the matter pause.

She repeated herself, "We do both want this, don't we? Or is your body just that responsive naturally?"

"Scout, we can't do this." He said more to himself than the girl in his arms, wishing to all that was evil that the nobleness would stop, "I want to fuck ya raw, but we can't do this."

She scowled at him, tired of the inexplicable brush-off she kept receiving (though indescribably glad to hear him say that he wanted her as much as she wanted him, "And why not?"

There she went again, making him possibly the most un-metal musician in metal, "Because if we do it now, I probably won't stick around... Scout, I want to do this thing right, with you."

She looked like he had just slapped her across the face with a metal glove, "Excuse me? You want to... be with me...? The 'right' way...? Did you just slip me crack or something? Because I couldn't have heard you right."

"Hey, I don't do crack! Ok, I do. But-"

"But what?" She was practically snarling, quickly passing boiling point.

Wow, she was almost as difficult as he was, almost, "I couldn't. Ya happy now?"

"Couldn't? You mean that the only reason that you kept pushing me away was because," It dawned on her at last, "I'm the teenage daughter of your manager, who just so happens to be suffering from emotional trauma? And it never occurred to you that I needed your help or wanted you to jump me because why?"

"I tried to help ya." Pickles defended his position, "And it's not like women are exactly jumping at the chance ta fuck me."

Crap, did he just say that out loud? Fuck, he didn't want her ta know what a loser he really was...

She looked at him like he was a heartbreakingly adorable puppy in a television commercial, his unintentional honesty making her like him even more, "Aww, Pickles! I can't believe that you thought that I wouldn't like you..." She blushed, her ballsy, irrational side disappearing as she began reverting back to her normal self (her objective now within reach), "I thought that you wouldn't like me, because I was so inexperienced, and just some stupid girl with parental issues."

"You wanna talk ta me about parental issues?" He laughed dryly, setting her down again, "Have ya seen my family?"

Living her life free of any sort of music harder than classical, she had only heard of Dethklok in passing over the years, not actually hearing them until she had moved in with them (so naturally she had no idea what any of their families were like), "No, but they must have done something right, becuase if they hadn't, you wouldn't be standing here with me right now."

He cracked a smile, "Then maybe I should go call 'em and thank 'em."

She shrugged, saying casually, innocently rolling her eyes towards the hallway leading to her room, "You could do that, or you could take me back to my room and help me dry off."

As if he would really call those assholes?

**- Metalocalypse -**

Hot tub water apparently not so good for the hair, Scout had told Pickles that she was going to go take a hot shower, her offer for him to follow her back to her room turning out to be no more than a cock-tease. He tried to follow her into the bathroom, but she shut him out, telling him to wait for her on the bed (she was going to be a while). His words earlier had left her with a sense of obligation to help him get what he wanted, their goals mutual, though that did absolutely nothing for their current states, her body alone hot enough to light a hundred Menorahs at once. God knows how badly they wanted to straddle the other, but thankfully, her shower had worked in other ways...

Imagining that she would take anywhere from thirty minutes to over an hour, Pickles laid back on her bed, lounging on the comfortable mattress (was it his imagination, or was her bed softer than his was?). That would be enough time for him to get rid of his erection and work off some of the aggression he was still feeling. Reclining his head against the satiny nude and vermillion pillow, he could smell the scent of her cinnamon-vanilla shampoo. The scent was intoxicating, his nose taking a moment or two to inhale the scent completely. Surrounded by Scout's light fragrance, he proceeded to slip his hand down his underwear, passed the elastic band, his fingers firmly gripping his stiff member. Why he had talked a perfectly willing partner out of having sex was beyond him. Well, at least he had his hand.

Closing his eyes, Pickles imagined that he had heard the bathroom door creak open, a hesitant dirty-blonde head poking out from the other side. She blushed, cheeks turning rosy underneath the steamy water that trailed treacherous pathways down her body, slowly coming out from behind the bathroom door, a very short robe on, hanging on only by her left shoulder and closed at the waist by a loose sash. She turned from Pickles so all he could see was her back, twisting her hair behind the covered shoulder, her neck exposed. Reaching down her front, she pulled the sash away, the material slipping further down her shoulder. Taking advantage of that, she looked over her shoulder at him, sliding away the rest of the fabric so that her perky breasts were exposed.

"Don't be shy, come ta daddy." He told her, beckoning her forward.

Complying, she turned back around so that he could see her better, dropping the robe so that she stood before him, "Is this alright?"

He nodded, and she swallowed hard, walking up to the bed, crawling across its surface to straddle him, her hips grinding against his as she lowered her head, chastely kissing him, whispering how much she wanted him inside her. Nibbling on his lip, her lips almost real against his, she backed away, lowering her head to his manhood, her eagerness and inexperience making her down as much as she possibly could at one time. That turned out to be quite a lot, her tongue dancing around the shaft, massaging the head, stimulating the slit. Pressing her head down lower, he gently guided her back and forth, up and down, faster and faster.

"Scout, I'm gonna..." He moaned, jerking so furiously that he came sooner than he had expected, his milk spilling down his hand, falling on her blankets.

Great...

Her mother had always told her to take a cold shower if she was heated, which she took to mean when she was angry in her youth, now knowing exactly what her mother had really meant. No offense to mommy, but this was one thing that she wasn't about to do, not this time...

After actually washing her hair, and scrubbing away the filth that had accumulated since her last bath, Scout stood in the shower, the water falling on her head like molten needles, her back to the wall. Sopping wet, hand in position over her womanhood, she thought of Pickles, his mouth on hers, his hands trailing up her body, imaging what would happen next, rubbing wildly at the visions.

Teasing herself for the past couple of minutes, she panted his name, her release coming, "...Oh, Pickles... Pickle... Pick... OH, yes!"

Finished, she slid down the wall.

Shutting off the tap after twenty minutes or so, Scout stepped out of the shower refreshed, a fluffy pink towel wrapped tightly around her body. Exiting the bathroom, she sighed with relief, Pickles still sitting where she had left him and not gone, a suspicious stain on the comforter. That could be handled later. Right now, she had someone waiting for her...

"So what now?" He inquired, watching her as she began to dig around in her dresser drawer.

She looked at him, "Now? I get dressed."

Removing an over-sized, jet-black t-shirt that said "One of us is thinking about sex... Ok, it's me" from the bottom drawer, and a pair of charcoal hipsters from the top, she put the shirt on over the towel, her back to him just in case the towel slipped, pulling on the underwear after removing the excess bulge that was the towel. Throwing the towel over her shoulder, she crawled into bed with the red-haired man, hair spilling down her shoulder and into his face as she leaned over him, lips grazing his lips.

"So," She kissed him lightly, settling in by his side, "About what you said earlier... Does that mean you want me to be... your girl?" Her eyes lit up the brightest he had ever seen them, small flecks of her father's brown sticking out near the pupil.

"Ya don't have to label it..." He grumbled, nuzzling her closer.

**- Metalocalypse -**

There really was a first time for everything...

Pickles, whom had never, not even in his pre-rock star days, woken up with a woman without actually banging her first, rolled his head over to see Scout curled up next to him, her arm stretched out across his shoulder. When she had laid down next to him, talking about this and that, they were weary, but not tired. Apparently that wasn't quite the case, however, as sleep hit their exhausted bodies fast, and it hit them hard, at least ten hours passing since the first closed eye.

It being in his nature to either sneak out while the girl was sleeping and/or other wise occupied or to just have her cleared out, it was strange for him to wake up not only having another person in his arms, but to actually be glad to have her there, comfortable and at ease. She was something else, some kind of ethereal angel in the black void that sucked the souls from men, smiling without the intimidation of mental rebuke, unburdened by thoughts of grief or stress (no thanks to himself). Scout was at peace, and she was with him.

"Morning," Eyes split open, gazing up at the drummer, she stretched, body arching, "How'd you sleep?"

Pulling her back down, he kissed her deeply, passionately, wrapping his arm around her neck, "Alright."

Maybe things weren't so bland and hopeless after all...

* * *

I don't own Metalocalypse, unfortunately...

I also do not condone drugs.

Nor underage sex with minors. Or any bad thing that might possibly occur in this story...

Well, that wasn't awkward to write, at all. But, I do need to leave my comfort zone every now and again, so if that was bad, I'm sorry. Sex, even the solo stuff, isn't my strong suit. Go figure. Anyways, I also wanted to say that things are progressing at this pace because I don't want this to be a twenty+ chapter story. I was originally planning/hoping for a five part story, but since that's out, I've decided to just not limit this, though if I were you, if anyone actually likes this story at all, I wouldn't expect it to go on for much longer. Just saying.

And reviews are always welcome!


	7. Deth At A Funeral

Charles sat at his desk, the mountain of paperwork pertaining solely to affairs concerning Scout nearing its end. If he hadn't been so preoccupied with various forms and suits involving the band, he might have finished it sooner, as her paperwork was only a little bit more than what he usually dealt with on a daily basis. Legal transference of guardianship, address, schooling, medial records, seasonal applications, insurance, processing Ravenia's other final matters. It was a nightmare to take on all at once, depriving him of the spare time he might otherwise have spent getting to know his daughter. He imagined that she couldn't have been taking any of this well, but from what the Klokateers had told him, she was managing well enough, even frequently involved with her studies. Probably taking her mind off matters. Then again, Ravenia most likely had raised her quite strictly, even a little thing like death nothing to stop for. And the band called _him_ a robot?

Speaking of the band, he had heard rumors that Scout had taken up a friendship with Pickles. That was worrisome. Charles had nothing against the drummer, actually quiet fond of him, but he was notorious for his drug and alcohol use, and considering that Scout was a teenager suddenly freed from the repressive shackles that her mother had no doubt placed upon her... It didn't bode well in his mind. Then there was also the matter that she would be depressed added to that... Maybe once he had all of the details taken care of and the funeral was out of the way, he could arrange a special surprise for her...

**- Metalocalypse -**

Gathered at the massive television that wasn't even a typical t.v., the boys (and Scout) were sitting around, watching a brand new, brutal horror movie that Scout had found while looking through their massive collection of films, the plastic still on the case. Dubbed "_Zombie Blood Cop vs. the Vampires VII: The Hunt for the Gory Murderer Wolfenstein and the Revenge of his Monster Bride part II_", the movie promised to be a frightening bloodbath like the world has never seen before, with surprises around every corner.

There had been a small argument about the movie before they started it, Murderface trying to pick a fight with the girl by calling her decision lame. She had been excited for the movie, a rabid fan of the franchise for years, somehow never knowing of its secret existence before stumbling across it (she had been a _very_ dedicated fan). His criticism of the film had dented her spirits somewhat, and viewing her like a little sister, Toki had taken it upon himself to defend her choice, pointing out how brutal the title was. Even Skwisgaar had to agree with that much. Nathan, who expected her to like happy, girly crap like romantic comedies, was merely surprised to learn that she wasn't as one-dimensional as he had thought. Pickles, who had suspected that she had ulterior motives for the movie (horror movies legendary for the opportunity to cop a feel), was also shocked to learn that she was a not-so-closet horror fan. He too had backed up her decision to watch the movie.

Matter settled, they took their places at the couch, Murderface at one end, brooding over how much he disliked Scout and her kind, Skwisgaar next to him, holding a large bucket of gourmet popcorn in his lap, then Nathan in the middle, leaning forward as Toki whispered something up at him from his spot on the floor. Underneath a large magenta blanket with lavender and aqua butterflies on it, Scout was curled at an odd angle (an angle perfect for hiding physical contact), her hand on Pickles' thigh, his hand over hers, the one person that might had noticed busy speaking with Nathan. During the duration of the film (that was so hardcore it kept them all rapt) Scout had sat in Pickles' lap, so frightened that she had once jumped on Nathan (which after the look he had given her, she was careful to just remain in Pickles lap after her next scare).

They would all have nightmares after that movie...

Once it was over and the lights were back on (Scout no longer on Pickles) , Charles had came to collect them for a meeting, also requesting that Scout join them...

**- Metalocalypse -**

Seated next to her father, Scout looked around nervously, never having been in this room before. Nathan sat next to her, Toki waving from across the table. Pickles was on Nathan's other side. Charles looked no different than he had the night that she had met him, his eyes tired, shoulders braced for a mountain of work before retiring. Frightened to be in the same room with both her father and Pickles, she kept her eyes forward, staring blankly at the table. She was determined to not look at anyone unless she absolutely had to (fairly certain that not even spontaneous combustion was enough to garner a glance).

"I have finished all of the arrangements, so Scout, you now have top clearance for all of Mordhaus and any other Detklok-related venue. As for your schooling-"

"I would like to remain here and be homeschooled. I don't want to go back to my old school. Or go to some private school. I want to stay here." She cut him off, taking herself by surprise.

Used to being cut-off, he acted as if there had been no interruption, "Very well. Now, as for the funeral, I have arranged a very expensive affair in your mother's hometown. The ceremony will begin at 1:30 P.M., this Sunday."

Her stomach churned. The funeral? This soon? With everything that had been going on with Pickles, she had completely forgotten about the funeral. She had forgotten about her mother. How could she have been so selfish? How could she have blocked it all out like that? What kind of a monster was she? Her mother had given birth to her, raised her alone, and this was how she repaid her? By chasing after some guy? And then once she had him, she barely even thought about it, about her mother being dead... Maybe it was a self-defensive mechanism, a mental pain-blocker, but that felt too convenient, too self-assuring. She was a horrid bitch, a creature who didn't deserve that kind of comfort, true or not...

"... Will we have to do anything?" Murderface asked Charles coldly. "I'm sick and tired of doing charity gigs."

"No, Murderface," He looked wearily over at Scout, noting that she had spaced out and retreated into her own mind, "You don't have to play a show. Just go to the funeral and show her your support. You guys are family now, the only family she has left."

The only family she had left...?

Was that true? Did she really have no one else to look after her? Just a CFO who was never there because he was so dedicated to his job? Was that poor girl really alone in the world, left to fend for herself amidst this dysfunctional group that had grown to call each other a family? Were six grown men horribly out of touch with the world all that she had? She wasn't that pretty, so she'd probably never find a husband, or even a boyfriend, and she was too smart for her own good, so who would want to befriend her? Was she doomed to stay stuck with them, and them with her? Was this a permanent fixture?

"So, where are we goin'?" Pickles asked.

"Prescott, Arizona." Scout answered, devoid of all emotion, "My mother was born in Prescott, but when I was born, she moved us to a smaller area."

**- Metalocalypse -**

The week passed in a morbid blur for Scout, her mind occupied with remorse, regret, and grief. Even when she was alone with Pickles at night (the duo taking turns sneaking into each others rooms), all she would do was cry in his arms for hours until she fell asleep. He was being fairly good about it all, reminding himself that he had wanted to do this for her (also thinking about the reward he was sure to get at the end of all this). She had promised him as much, swearing between her tears and whimpers that she was being terrible to him, that she would make it up to him.

Probably not the best way to start things, but it could have been worse. She could have been pregnant...

But at last, the day had arrived (the group arriving a few days earlier, Scout forced to meet with all of her friends and her mother's friends) in Prescott, staying at the nicest hotel in the city. Apparently no one had really known what had happened to her, rumors swirling that that she had moved suddenly because her mother had had an affair with a mobster, one of the less ridiculous stories being that she herself had gotten knocked-up and was forced to leave the school. She wondered what her ex thought about that one. The ex that she still technically had to break up with (if the distance wasn't hint enough).

Outside the fancy place that was hosting the funeral party, if that's what it was really called, Scout greeted the guests hollowly, receiving nothing but looks of pity (and envy from those who were familiar with Dethklok (which was pretty much everyone)), "Hello. Welcome. Glad you could make it."

Charles stood with her at the entrance, introducing himself and informing all of the proper people that she had moved and would continue school at home. He would occasionally toss a concerned look at her. When her (ex) boyfriend showed up, the schmuck under the impression that they were still an item (even though they hadn't spoken in all the time that she had been with Dethklok), he had requested that they speak privately for a moment. Charles, thinking he was doing her a good thing, allowed her to go, telling her that he could take care of this.

"Scout," He took her to the hallway by the second bathroom, a pair of green eyes following them, "Where have you been? I've been worried sick!"

He pulled her into a tight embrace, forcing her head forward as he held her by the neck. She just looked at him, too mopey to do anything about it, aware that they weren't alone. She was almost never alone (and for good reason she felt).

"You didn't call me, write me, text me... And then you show up with Dethklok? What is that about? You don't even like them!" She wasn't sure if he was more concerned about her or envious that she was now with the most famous metal band of all time, though from the sound of his voice, it sounded pretty evenly divided. He was a good liar.

Shoving him away, she glanced over at the crowd of people swooning over Dethklok, a certain drummer watching her like a hawk, a jealous and possessive hawk, "Sorry. They can be a handful, but they're my family now." The words sounded strange to her ears, but they felt right, "And we shouldn't see each other anymore."

Overcome with envy, shock, and anger at being dumped, he raised his hand to strike her (something he had never done before). Seeing this, she recoiled, judging from the distance that no body would be able to stop the blow in time, even if they saw it coming. She knew though that he would pay once the space was closed however. Depending on the damage done, she might just call them off, if she felt up to it. She wasn't in a particularly kind mood right about now.

"Hey, asshole, that's my little sister you're fucking with!" Nathan blocked the blow, catching it and returning his own, sending the boy flying back, head hitting the wall with a thunk, blood leaking down his skull.

Working his way over, Pickles began to ruthlessly kick him while he was down, Toki joining in, "Don't you ever touch her again!" "Nevers Agains!"

Moved that Nathan had said that about her, about her being his little sister, Scout hugged Nathan, "Nathan! Thank you."

He normally would have shoved her away from him, but the look on her face made him think twice, so he allowed her the rare moment, "Get the fuck off me."

She obliged, brushing off the skirt of her sable chiffon dress, catching Pickles eye, "Sorry." She turned to her probably dead ex-boyfriend, "If you don't mind, I have a funeral to attend. Pickles? Toki?"

Holding out her arms, they escorted her out of the hallway (Toki not understanding that he should have taken her arm in his). Nathan followed them out of the hall, skulking away towards the open bar he had been standing at before saving Scout...

* * *

I don't own Metalocalypse, unfortunately...

I also do not condone drugs.

Nor underage sex with minors. Or any bad thing that might possibly occur in this story...

Is it just me, or did this chapter fly by? Well, I regret nothing! The band needed a moment with Scout, even if it was short like that. And how epic is Nathan? Pretty awesome if you ask me...

And reviews are always welcome!


	8. Deth At A Funeral: Epilogue

The funeral passed by without further incident, Charles keeping close to Scout after her brush with her bitter ex-boyfriend, standing next to her as her mother was lowered into the ground, a comforting hand on her shoulder. She cried silently, shivering as she watched the casket being lowered into the earth, her veil fluttering lightly in the breeze. Pickles stood beside her, holding her hand, not caring if anyone had seen it or not. Scout was hurting, and he would be dammed if he couldn't help her through this.

So this was how it ended...?

Her mother going to rest forever more in a wooden box, buried six feet underground? All that remained memories and an elaborate rock that stated her name, and the dates that she entered the world and left it? Nothing left behind of her but the recollections of a hazy yesterday and the knowledge that they would never share another moment together? Her mother would be no more than forgotten dust, rotting way when she should have been dancing with her at her wedding? No fights over how lousy her husband was? No holding her hand as she became a mother herself? She wouldn't even get to see her graduate from high school...

So this was how it ended...

Watching the casket sink back into the earth, Scout realized that this was a turning point in her life, a time for new beginnings. She would lament the passing of her mother for many more nights to come, but she wouldn't be alone, nor would she stay sad... That was just life. Nothing personal, nothing cruel. It was just the natural order of things. There was a light at the end of this tunnel, she knew that now, it was now just a matter of reaching it. But this wasn't the end of the world...

**- Metalocalypse -**

Scout had remained behind at the grave as the others filed away, leaving to return to their ordinary lives, and in Dethklok's case, get wasted. Charles had wanted to remain by her side, to offer her some kind of advice, but he knew that there was nothing he could say at that moment to help her, so he too shuffled away, leaving her standing at the freshly dug grave, weeping freely. The only one that had remained by her side was Pickles, not once letting go of her hand during the ceremony, and not even after, as the others left them, one by one. They saw her agony, and they knew that they could say nothing to ease it (though some had tried anyways).

She returned a small smile, but he knew that it was as fake as something that wasn't real. She tried to keep her head high, to fool them into believing that she was fine, but he knew better, so he was there for her, holding her as she mourned. Hands clenching the back of his designer suit jacket, wrinkling it, tears staining the front, she remained in his arms, his hands against her back, letting her know that he was there for her, for whatever she needed.

"She's not going to get to see me do anything with my life." Scout was matter-of-fact, "Not graduate, not date, not marry, not anything. She wanted me to go on to be a world-famous violinist. I didn't want that, but she did. I didn't know what I wanted, but ever since I was little, I convinced myself that she knew what was best. She didn't. Do you know how I was even born? I was a mistake, made in the bathroom of some concert! I wasn't planned, but every step of my my life, every beat of my heart was planned for me. I'm surprised that she didn't have my husband lined up for me already. She was very strict. I never was allowed to do much of anything. Until I met you, I'd never even seen a guy's body before, not even in porn. She was so strict, I couldn't even keep myself as happy as I would have wanted to. I'm surprised I didn't go crazy and kill myself! She was so controlling... I think I might have hated her... I couldn't have loved her, not the way I forget her every time you hold me in your arms. She was so calculating, so cold. She never let me have fun outside of her concept of per-approved dildoness. I never even liked him, but she had talked me into dating that idiot... She wasn't good, but she tried to make me perfect. Pickles, I think I hated my mother..."

It sure sounded like it, but it wasn't the same way he hated his own, "Ya don't hate her. Ya just disagreed with her."

"More than half the time I only told her I loved her out of habit, there were moments I just wanted to punch her in the stupid face, for no reason whatsoever, and I just kind of went with whatever she said to avoid confrontation. She was a bitch, and I didn't love her. I care about her, yes, and I am heartbroken that she's gone, but I didn't love her. All the things I'm feeling, I think I'm feeling only because I have to." She had never said that out loud before, not even to herself in private, but it wasn't untrue.

He understood that complicated feeling all too well, knowing exactly what it felt like to hate your family but not wanting to see them suffer either, "Come on, why don't we go get a drink?"

Standing back she took stock of their location and just how alone they really were in that moment, no one around who could possibly ruin the moment, not for miles, "No, I want to do this with a clear head. Pickles, I'm ready... I want you."

Well, it was practically a proven fact that funerals made one horny, and she was surfing high on a wave of realization and empowerment, which could make one drunk for all intents and purposes. And though it might have seemed strange, to him, here, in this moment with her, it felt as if there couldn't have been a better time than if they had planned it. She, standing there in pure black like a fallen angel of death, the black so perfect on her pale skin, against her light hair, looked exquisite, the fire back in her grey eyes as she stared him down, the hungry wolf.

He needed no farther prompting. Pickles yanked her closer, smashing their bodies together so that there wasn't even enough room for bacteria to wriggle through, he pushed her gossamer veil over her head so that he could see her clearly. Flipping her veil over her face, his left hand slowly trailed down her back, stopping at her waist, the right brushing her cheek, his thumb gliding over her lips. Lowering his hand to her neck, guiding her forward, he kissed her, slipping his tongue passed her parted lips, tasting her mouth, exploring its slippery depths.

"Scout-"

She returned the kiss with passionate urgency, nibbling on his lower lip as she pulled away, their hips still joined, giving herself enough room for the next part. Fumbling with the small clasp at the top of her dress, she popped it open, revealing her chest to him, heaving excitedly underneath a silky black bra. She had seen him in all his naked glory (mostly by accident), but had held off on showing him her entire body, saving that show for a special occasion. Today might have been important, but that was no guarantee he'd get to see the girls. Things might have been moving fast, her body working against her mind, but she still had some morals!

Morals...? Scout? Pft...

Scout, shorter than Pickles and tired of standing (having stayed behind for quite some time), fell to her knees after a series of butterfly kisses and stolen breath, taking his zipper down with her, her fingers pulling on the button of his pants, his hands disappearing in her hair. If there was anything that they did do together (besides the boring romantic stuff such as sleeping together without being intimate), it was usually involving the mouth (primarily Scout's). What started out as lovely little dark marks that discreetly bloomed under clothes (the two very careful about where they marked each other), quickly turned into an oral relationship.

He prided himself a good teacher, though it helped significantly that she was fast leaner and very eager to please. In just a few sessions, she was blowing him like a pro (at least in his mind she was, and really that's all that matters), her tongue very wiggly. So it was without hesitation that she had pulled his cock from his pants and began to stroke it until it reached hardness. Once erected, she took in as much as she could, jerking her head back so she could lick the tip, wrapping her tongue around it as she continued to stroke him. She wasn't particularly found of this part, but he didn't need to know that, now did he? She knew that guys loved this part, so she was willing to lower herself for him.

"Scout," He repeated, feeling himself spring to life in her mouth, the pre-cum spilling down her face as he pulled out, "Lay down."

Obeying, she slowly backed away, sliding her tongue one last time along the underside of his shaft, laying down on the grass and fresh dirt. Hair raying out behind her in a circlet of bronze and honey, she blushed in embarrassment, looking away from him. Smiling down at her reassuringly, never having seen anything as beautiful as she was to him, he climbed on top of her, shoving her skirt out of the way so that he could be on top of her. Easing her face over so that he could look at her face, she grabbed his wrist, moving his hand down her chin, under her jaw, along her throat, and stopping over her heart.

"Pickles, I'm ready..."

Kissing her again, he ran his other hand up her thigh, "Scout, you sure you want to do this with a fuck up like me?"

Moving his hand passed her bra, their hands sailing under the glossy material, his finger passing over a pert nipple, she nodded, "I would rather die a virgin than be here with anyone other than you."

He laughed, "Now you're just trying ta flatter me. Do ya say that ta all the guys you bring around here?"

She smiled coyly, kissing his cheek, "Only the drummer."

**- Metalocalypse -**

**Epilogue  
**

The air smelled of stale weed, raspberry schnapps, vanilla-cinnamon, and sex. Heavy, sweaty, recent sex. Sex so recent, the perspiration was still hovering in the air, the moans not yet dead on lover's lips. Thankfully for the guilty party, there was no question as to why, the entire group adding their own fuel to the fire. As for the sweat dripping from their pores, the cover story was that they had began working out together, which wasn't entirely a lie. They were working out, just not in the conventional sense. It was the 'your father can not find out about this' kind of way.

"...So, any questions?" Charles wrapped up this meeting with relative quiet, half the band still wiped out from the party the previous night.

Scout, whom had been in attendance for the last several band meetings, looked at her father as if he had just stripped down, sang the Backstreet Boys, and announced his intentions to wed a camel, "What? Can you repeat that please?"

"We're starting touring season next weekend." He, being in the dark about his daughter's secret affair with Pickles, found it odd that she would object to the change in the schedule.

It wasn't so much the moving around that got her as the expectations the band had of hooking up with random sluts after shows. How in the hell was that going to work, considering Pickles couldn't tell them that he had a girlfriend? Unless someone wanted to part with their favorite organ, he had better not even try to get out of the talk she was planning on having with him about this. Hey, it had been a month since he had voted her hymen off the island, so she figured she was entitled to this much.

* * *

I don't own Metalocalypse, unfortunately...

I also do not condone drugs.

Nor underage sex with minors. Or any bad thing that might possibly occur in this story...

The end.

Of this story. However, there will be a sequel! So mawhahahwa! Oh yes, this isn't over yet, not now that the show is going on the road!

Special bonus round: Does anyone know where the line "voted her (the actual line 'your') hymen off the island" comes from?

And reviews are always welcome! No, seriously, they are very welcome.


End file.
